


Warning Shots

by sailorgreywolf



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Brotherly Love, Gen, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 11:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5783788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorgreywolf/pseuds/sailorgreywolf





	Warning Shots

The room was deliberately silent, the intense kind of silence that could only be described as oppressive. Prussia was keenly aware of it, but it was difficult to find the words to break it. His brother was sitting by the dying fire, his demeanor deflated. His blonde hair was unkempt and his arm was still bound beneath his coat, the damage from the mortar not healing as quickly as it should. His eyes were glazed over as he contemplated the patch of the rug in front of him.

The sight of the young man so broken rendered Prussia speechless. He had not intended any of this and there was no way for him to remedy it. The feeling of impotence and the rage that accompanied it was boiling in his blood. For all his effort, all his care and training, he had failed yet another brother. The spark of optimism and nationalism that had lit his brother's eyes when the war had begun was gone, replaced with the cold, distant grey of resignation.

Prussia was pacing the room, and the sharp sound of his boot heels against the floor were the only accompaniment to the scene. Even the fire did not have the energy to crackle or pop as it slowly ebbed into embers. Each of them were alone within their own regrets, their own recollections of what had happened. Prussia had gone East and been able to break through the front. He had been able, through a stroke of genius, to topple Russia's precious tsarist regime and expose the man to the agony of Civil war. He had assumed himself victorious when he returned with the treaty of Brest-Litovsk in hand. One part of the war had been easily won and their territory had been extended, which was all they had sought from this war.

But, the situation he had returned to was nothing more than a war of attrition, both sides wearying of the constant fighting. It was his brother's responsibility to handle the Western Front, and that front had turned into nothing but carnage. Prussia, in all his years of war, had never seen anything comparable. Those trenches were not the way that war should be fought. They were the stuff of Dante's inferno, like the never-ending purgatory of the ambitious country. Only fatigue had ended it all.

Now, even the victory that Prussia had won in the East was at risk and he could do nothing. He was not even privy to the decision. Finally, the frustration seized his voice and he gave expression to his thoughts, "This is an insult. We deserve a say in the peace, but they make us wait here while they talk in Versailles."

Germany looked up slowly at his older brother, pain and the fatigue of the years of war clear on his face. There was a tinge of red that stained the whites of his eyes. It looked as though he had been crying, but Prussia had not seen it. Was he hiding it for fear that his brother would think him weak? His voice was that of a broken young man as he spoke, "I'm sorry, Gil. I'm so sorry. I lost the war, and now the allies can punish us."

There was an unbearable weight in each word that Prussia wished he could alleviate. He would do what he had to as a brother to comfort him. He walked over to the couch and stood right in front of the blonde. He said, his voice ringing of the confidence he didn't not truly possess, "Don't apologize to me. You've done nothing wrong."

Those deep blue eyes, still slightly red, looked up at him unbelieving. The unmistakable sound of restrained tears permeated Germany's voice as he responded, "Yes I did! I wanted so badly to win glory like you did. But, I'm not you. No matter how hard you tried to teach me, I lost without you." He paused for only a moment to pull in a deep shuttering breath. Then, he continued, "You were wrong. I'm not ready to be a country on my own."

This final painful realization seemed to break the last of his discipline and glassy tears started to roll down his cheeks. A physical pain was growing in the middle of Prussia's chest. He couldn't watch this; he couldn't hear these words. The boy he had raised to be a strong military country was crying in front of him, trying to wipe away the tears with his single good hand.

The albino took a firm step forward and reached out. He put both of his hands firmly on his brother's face and tilted it back up so that they were looking directly at each other. He spoke deliberately and slowly so that Germany could understand every word he said, "Listen to me, Ludwig. You did not lose. We still had troops on French soil. We still have all the land Russia gave up to us. This was an armistice, not a capitulation. If I ever hear you say you are not ready to be a country again, I'm going to make you run laps until you collapse."

His own voice could no remain calm and even as he spoke words of comfort. On the last sentence, he could hear a break in his own decidedly stern tone. But, it was worth it when he saw a small smile appear on his younger brother's face. It faded quickly, but there was hope in it all the same. There was also a degree of wit in his response, "You know how many laps that would be, right?"

Prussia decided that it was enough progress to release his brother's face and sit down next to him. It was always disorienting how he had to look up at his younger brother. Since Germany had become a country, he had grown out of an adolescent body. Prussia could only infer that he had inherited his mother's height and build, because he was far shorter than his brother. He could see the clear shadow of his father in Germany's broad shoulders and towering height, there was a striking similarity in the face as well.

He responded to the question with a small smile of his own, "I know, and I also know that I've brought stronger soldiers than you to their knees." But, this levity could not last. The first comment the albino had made was still hanging in the air, not yet properly addressed. Germany's face fell again as he said, "When I agreed to the armistice, France said this was how it was done. He said that the victor always decides the term of the peace."

This information was certainly new to Prussia, and it was blatantly untrue. He understood, with a sense of revulsion, what exactly had happened. France had used his brother's inexperience to enact his own vendetta. Prussia had no doubt that the man still held a grudge for the peace that Prussia had forced upon him the last time they had fought. Trying to hide how angry this news made him, the albino said, "That is completely untrue. The idea that he won is a farce. If he wants to say he beat us, I suggest he have troop in Berlin first. But ask him if I made him sit on the sidelines when his emperor was defeated."

He gritted his teeth so that nothing more caustic could spill out. But, Prussia was raging on the inside. He had had the honor to give Talleyrand a spot at the table at the Congress of Vienna, despite the fact that the coalition had soundly crushed Napoleon. Now, Francis didn't have the decency to do the same. If the Frenchman thought that he could expect Prussia to passively sit by during this insult, then he was completely wrong. Both of the albino's hands curled into fists. Germany noticed the action and put his own hand on top of one of his brother's fists. He said, apparently deciding that he should not be the one doing the comforting, "Please just be calm, Gilbert. I made my own decision. Now we just have to wait for the terms. I'm sure they will be fair."

The albino responded with an incredulous scoff and stood back up. There was too much warring inside of him right now to be still. He said, explaining his initial reaction, "How little you know about European politics, little brother. Without us there to defend ourselves, they will pick our bones clean like vultures." Germany blinked at him, disbelief clear in his eyes.  
Then he said, "But why would England and America let France take advantage of this?"

The naiveté in his eyes was painful to Prussia. He knew how wrong his little brother was. He had been at far to many peace conferences to believe in such fantasies. A blind eye could be bought with the promise of land or power. It would be too easy for France to sweep the others aside and take whatever revenge he wanted to. Prussia's hands remained clenched in tight fists as he thought about what his former friend was probably doing at this very moment. France's grudge over the ostentatious way Germany had been crowned an empire was enough for him to want to bleed them dry. It was the typical, vicious, vindictive nature of European politics to demand more flesh than was owed.

Prussia finally spoke once the thoughts stopped rushing in his head, telling his brother the sad truth, "They probably have no interest in restraining him. It's best that you learn now: None of Europe will defend you." The albino had looked away to continue pacing as he spoke. It was a nervous habit that was better suited to a military encampment. In this setting, it seemed strange. At least his brother was used to it. He turned back to Germany to see how the words had impacted him. These were the truths that Prussia had hoped his brother need never experience. Now, it was his fault for not preparing his brother to face them. But, there was a light in the blue eyes as Prussia met them.

Then the younger spoke, and it explained his expression, "But you've always been here. Even when I don't deserve it." Prussia was torn between the urge to smile or shake his little brother. Instead, he forced himself to sit back down on the couch and put his arm around his brother.  
This was the best thing to do for now, for Germany's sake. He said, "Of course, Ludwig. What kind of awesome brother would I be if I left you alone?"

He meant to lighten the mood, but the words still sounded bitter to his own ears. He had failed in his duties as a brother once, he wouldn't make the same mistake. Germany still seemed to be struggling to express himself. He finally just said, "I'm sorry for everything. I made so many mistakes." Prussia tightened his hold on his brother's shoulder, wishing that this would actually be comforting. He just wanted his brother to stop apologizing, This war wasn't his fault, and whatever was coming was not either. But it was easy to see how Germany blamed himself, it was natural that a young country should take his first draw hard.

Prussia spoke again, trying to calm the blonde like he had used to when Germany had been little, "No matter what happens next, I am still proud of you. You fought as hard as you could; it's not your fault that war has become so ignoble." It was difficult to make the words sound completely sincere when Prussia was still seething. But, it was more painful to watch Germany break down. It wasn't Germany's nature to be so emotional; Prussia hadn't had to comfort him like this since he was very young.

This was supposed to have been a glorious war to help Germany really establish himself as a country, but now it was all falling apart. Germany leaned over so that some of his weight was resting on his brother. It was a familiar gesture from when he was a young child, he seemed to find physical contact comforting. The tension of the moment was broken when a door behind them opened. A third person, who was just a mortal, entered the room and spoke immediately, "We just received a phone call from Versailles. It is time for you to sign the treaty."

Prussia gritted his teeth, trying not to say what he would prefer the others do with their treaty. This was farce, revoltingly unfair farce. Considering what the outcome of this would probably, Prussia wished he could leave his brother here. It would hurt him to see the injustice that was coming. The albino got to his feet anyway, resigning himself to the Sisyphean task of shielding his brother from whatever was to come.

The trip to Versailles was marked by the same uneasy silence that had pervaded since the mortars had fallen silent. In the car, as the gleaming garish palaces of Versailles became visible on the horizon, Prussia reached over and put his hand on top of his brother's hand, which had clenched itself into a fist. He worked small circles on the back of Germany's fist, trying to relax the muscles. He said, trying to hide the edge in his own voice, "Everything is going to be fine."

Germany turned his head and his blue eyes met Prussia's red. There was a certain shine to his eyes that spoke of tears threatening to spill out again. His reply was curt, most likely because he was trying to keep his voice from breaking again, "I hope so." Prussia could hear the fear beneath the facade. He had taught Germany how to hide emotion behind a disciplined military front, and that technique did not fool him. But, he would let his brother act strong now. It would be better to show an unaffected face to France, England, and America. They did not need to see how much their mockery of a treaty affected Germany; it would only make them take further advantage of the situation.

As the manicured lawns came into view on either side, Prussia felt a rising sense of disgust. He had never liked this place. It wreaked of pretension and a false superiority. Why did France think he had the right to exert control over nature the same way he tried to control the rest of Europe? Both of them were lies. Sanssouci was far more beautiful because it understood its own restrictions. It also had the discipline and grace of the man who had built it. Versailles was an ugly, sprawling, ostentatious metropolis by comparison. It always caused an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He had only chosen to crown Germany an empire here as a gesture to wound France's pride.

Coming back to this place was a sick twist of fate that could be nothing but intentional. France knew what he was doing, and he knew what this would symbolize. Prussia stepped out of the car, and fought back the urge to walk on the grass to ruin the artifice. He glanced over at his brother, and saw that the muscles in the blonde's jaws were tense as they held a firm clench. It was clear that he was channeling all of his emotions into keeping himself silent and stoic. It was better like this for now. Prussia promised himself that he would do the same.

It did not take them long to find the hall of mirrors. The way was far too familiar. They had both walked it before, not so long ago. The atmosphere had been different, but the place was the same. Prussia noticed that his brother kept glancing at his as though he was expecting emotion of some kind. But, Prussia would not show it. If he broke, then Germany certainly would. Regardless, the emotion he was repressing was not sadness, it was anger and outrage. It was a soldiers skill to be able to act against his own rage. Losing your head in the middle of battle would only lead to loses.

France's voice carried into the hallway, his arrogance dripping from every word. There was a light hearted laugh in his voice that he had no right to. Did he really think he had won something? Prussia's knuckles turned white as he grabbed the golden doorknob and turned it. It was all he could do to keep himself calm. Germany walked past him into the room. The blonde's footsteps carried unmistakable heaviness. Prussia felt himself recoil a little. How had he failed again? Why hadn't he protected Germany the way he had promised to? If France stepped over the line again, he would pay for it.

The albino followed his brother into the room. It was brightly lit, and the mirrors on the wall reflected the light back in all directions. France was sitting in a chair speaking to England, who seemed to be bored of the conversation. There were a smattering of other smaller countries seated near the walls. Like scavengers, they wanted to gain from the scraps of the confrontation. None of them were actually important.

The Frenchman was speaking in his native language, but Prussia understood the words perfectly. Fritz had spoken beautiful, eloquent French and it had not been a chore to learn the language to understand him. France seemed to have forgotten that the albino spoke the language, because even as he turned to look at Prussia, he said, "I bet I can get the boy to beg my forgiveness before we're done."

The albino's jaw muscles were beginning to ache from how much he was attempting to hold back his passion. He could not respond to France's inflammatory comment. There was a slight comfort when England responded, in English, "Just do your job Francis, you've gotten enough out of this already." Their bickering was exceptionally usual, and did little to help the situation.

Prussia decided that it would be better to interrupt them, "Where is your third? Has your bickering finally driven your bastard child away?" The absence of America was interesting though. If the boy had stormed out, then Prussia felt a slight sense of respect for the boy. At least he held to his loudly proclaimed ideals. England threw a glare at France before turning back to Germany and saying, "It's not important. We have finalized the treaty and you two just need to sign it."

Germany took a solemn step forward, as though walking to his own execution. But, Prussia said sharply, "No, Ludwig."  
He turned back to the pair of blondes facing them, "We will sign nothing until we get a chance to read it."  
France grimaced and said, "Why do you have to read it? It's your punishment and you don't get a say!"  
England snapped at him, "They have every right to read what they're agreeing to. Give them the document, frog."

The Frenchman's eyes were daggers as they fell first on the Englishman, and then on Prussia. He was making it perfectly clear that he knew who his enemy really was. He paid no mind to Germany, because he knew the man was young and naive enough to accept anything. It had been a mistake for Prussia to leave his brother alone to negotiate the armistice, but he was going to rectify that now. If France wanted a fight, he was going to get one.

France deliberately stood slowly, making Prussia wait for him. It was an old trick of diplomacy. The one who could control the speed of the conversation had the power over the negotiations. But, this trick was cheep, and the Prussian would not let it fluster him. He tapped his foot impatiently on the ground as France leisurely walked over to hand him a copy of the treaty to the albino. The sound echoed off the walls, and more than one of the leaches in the room winced at the sound.

The Frenchman finally reached Prussia and fixed his gaze directly on the other's face. His expression was meant to be a clear warning, but the albino met it unwaveringly. He had sacked Paris more than once and seen France on his knees; he did not fear this man. What seemed like an eternity ago, they had been friends. Those days were long gone, and the pair now stood in a cold, tense silence. They were close enough that either of them could have drawn a knife and plunged it into the other's flesh.

The blonde finally broke the tension when he thrust the paper into the albino's hands. His voice was devoid of all levity when he spat, "Here. Read it all you want. It's no worse than what you did to me." Prussia snatched away the document so quickly that the paper almost tore. Out of the corner of his eye, the albino could see his brother's look of utter shock. Prussia could not turn back now; he could not let France intimidate him. A warrior, a knight never backed down from an inferior opponent.

He looked down at the document and read over it quickly as France looked on, a small smirk on his face. Prussia got through the majority of it quickly. It was far from standard, but it was what Prussia had been expecting. With each article rage crept its way up the albino's throat. He could taste it hard and metallic on his tongue. This was an more than an affront, it was an attack. Who was France to reduce the size of the army? The army that had made Prussia great, that had allowed Germany to be unified.

It only got worse as he read. He was struggling to keep his face blank. If France knew how much this hurt, he would glory in it. But, as he flipped through page after page, the treaty took even more that it had no right to. The lands Prussia had won against Russia were not up for debate. The reparations were far more than he had asked of France. But, as he reached Article 231, all the rage he had been feeling overwhelmed him. This simple insult, written as though it was innocuous, broke through the dam of discipline. The anger washed over him in curiously cold waves. The rage that animated him in battle was hot, but this was cold and remarkably certain. Prussia said, his voice flatter than it had been all day, "You want us to admit guilt for the war? That's low, even for you."

He looked directly at France, the sight of the man's face brought back hundreds of years of affronts and insults. One stood out among all the rest. Prussia remembered in sharp detail what France's rapier had done to his little brother. He remembered the stink of the quagmire of blood and wet earth Holy Rome had been left in. He remembered brushing back pieces of blonde hair off of his little brother's cold forehead as he realized the devastating truth.

The Frenchman seemed to detect the shift in Prussia's manner, but he did not seem to know what to make of it. Yet, his arrogance continued to rule him, and he said, "You are guilty. You goaded Roderich into war."  
Prussia took a small step forward, and he spoke, "If you want a reason for this war, look in the mirror."

Then, he dropped the stack of papers that constituted the treaty. They hit the floor and the loosely bound pages flew in every direction. Gasps echoed around the room as the onlookers realized what was happening. No one looked more throughly appalled than Germany, who looked like he couldn't quite comprehend his brother's action. But, Prussia knew he was speaking out to protect his brother's honor. He would never let his brother sign a document that took the blame for the entire war.

Prussia took a side step and walked around France, who was looking dumbfounded. He then addressed the entire room, "Do any of you really believe that I started this? We are all guilty, and you know it." He turned slightly so that he was able to hurl more words at France, "If that was the case, Francis, why did you have fortifications on your border? You wanted an excuse for a fight as much as I did."

The albino could hear his blood pumping in his ears. He could feel every eye on him. He continued, "You all wanted a chance to fight. We all have our ambitions for power or land. All of us had the weapons ready to fight. I doubt any of us were actually fighting for Serbia." The feeling of finally laying bare the truth that had existed in European politics for centuries was intoxicating. These were the words that no one dare speak.

Prussia continued to speak, even though he could hear the whispers and gasps of the assembled countries, "I wish I was the belligerent tyrant you want to paint me as. You would all be kissing my boots by now. If you want to find the reason for this war, look to your own actions."

He caught the eyes of England, and the look in the green eyes was judgmental. Without a word, the British man condemned this entire speech. But, he would not escape scrutiny either. The albino turned his attention to him next, "Oh, but you hide your intentions behind pretty words like neutrality and self determination. If you want countries to determine their own fates, then ask India what he actually wants. But you wouldn't dare risk your precious empire for your professed ideals. You are both terrible hypocrites."

Another round of gasps went around the room, although there were some slight smiles from some of the colonies. They were glad to hear their precious, thwarted ambition spoken. That was enough to make Prussia smile and say, "You don't hate me because I'm different than the rest of you. You hate me because I'm honest about what I want. I'm your mirror and you hate seeing what you all really are. We are all thirsty for each other's blood."

Having finally, apparently recovered from Prussia's flippant refusal, France rounded on Prussia. His blue eyes were alight with a rage that seemed to match the albino's in strength. He said, "Don't you dare play the victim, Gilbert. You have attacked me over and over again to satisfy your own ambition. I tried to be your friend and you took advantage of it."

The albino could scarcely believe that France could lay the failing of their friendship at his feet. He was not the one who had rend the bond between them with the chaos of war. Prussia squared his stance in front of the blonde and met his condemning gaze unflinchingly. He wanted France to see his eyes and know exactly who he was dealing with. This blonde peacock could not possibly understand what Prussia had given up for the power he had now. It was easy for a man who had been handed an easy life by Rome and Charlemagne to condemn ambition. And yet, France had always stomped his feet like a petulant child when he lost.

Prussia smirked, "Tell me, Francis, when did you stop wanting my friendship? Was it when I became a threat instead of someone to pitied?"  
France snarled back at once, "I should have stopped you from walking over the rest of this continent decades ago!"  
The albino took a step forward, and sneered, "Do you really think you could have?"

England could no longer sit back with idle judgment. He appeared in Prussia's field of vision at France's side, his usually pasty white face bright red. Prussia didn't fear him either. England was a small man with a very large navy. Attempting to reassert order, the Englishman said, "You are both being childish! Just sign the treaty so we can put this entire unfortunate business behind us."

Prussia scoffed again; it was so predictable that England would make himself look like the perfect gentleman. He said, voicing his contempt, "You know I'm right, Arthur. Or are you that deluded?" The scowl deepened on the Briton's face. There was some satisfaction in seeing both France and England frustrated with his resistance.

But, the soft touch of a hand on Prussia's shoulder stopped him from elaborating. He turned to look at the source of the touch. His brother had put his hand on his shoulder. Germany's eyes were painfully pleading, the blue was begging for understanding. Prussia bit his tongue immediately, unwilling to continue if he was hurting his little brother. There was an ache in his chest as he met his brother's eyes, and it hurt enough to silence him. The younger spoke, using German to make sure they only understood each other, "Please stop, Bruder. I can't fight anymore."

Prussia's eyes passed over his brother's bound, injured arm and his worn face. All this European fighting was hurting him, and Prussia had been doing more of it to defend him. No matter how angry the albino was, this was not worth it. Germany continued to speak, "I'm not as strong as you. I wish I could be."

Prussia took a deep breath to calm himself. His duty was to be a good brother, so he would shelve his grudge for now. When he had given Germany the title of empire, he had trusted him. So, he nodded and said, "Do what you think is right." He glanced back at France, who was glancing from him to Germany, waiting for one of them to speak. Prussia fought back the urge to hit France. It would not be productive, but it would make him feel better. But, he would let Germany speak for them both.

The younger said, "We will sign the treaty." A sickeningly triumphant smile spread across Frances face, while England let out a relieved sigh.  
The Frenchman, unable to contain his smugness, said, "It's good to see that one of you has sense."

Prussia clenched his hands again, channeling all his anger into them. He wanted to snap back, but he was restraining himself for his brother's sake. France walked over to where the treaty was laying on the floor, and he looked as though he was about to bend and pick it up. But, then he stopped himself. Prussia had a sinking feeling as France turned to look at him with that same triumphant smile. His playful lilt sounded incredibly out of place when France said, "Ludwig, you should pick this up so you can sign it."

Germany looked uncertainly at Prussia. He was clearly confused, but Prussia understood perfectly. France wanted Germany to submit to further humiliation. But, England stepped in. The Briton stormed over to the scattered pile of papers and said, "Bloody hell, Francis. I have had enough of your games."

With that, he angrily bent down and picked up the entire document. He stomped over to a table that had apparently been set up for the formal signing. There were fine pens, still completely untouched, sitting on the table. England turned again and with the air of a school master chastising his students, said, "Now, sign the damn treaty. No more petty arguments from anyone."

Germany took the pen and put his signature on the last page of the offensive document, all in complete obedient silence. Prussia knew he must do the same, but he hated it all the same. France was making a mistake that history would undoubtedly repudiate. Prussia would not let himself forget this, and the next time he invaded Paris he would not be kind.

The albino's steps were dignified and measured as he approached the repugnant document. He did not dare look at France, lest he lose his temper again. The pen was smooth against the callouses of his sword hand. A tiny crack showing in his soldier's discipline, Prussia looked directly at his French rival and said, "You should be careful who you call a monster." He flicked his wrist casually and finished his signature, the ink looking like the blood of Judas on the page. Then he said, "Because, someday you might find they've actually become one. Then you'll be the one begging for mercy."


End file.
